


Heart & Soul

by Setkia



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Oblivious!Soul, Pining!Soul, Soul Teaches Maka Piano
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-14 05:50:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15382068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Setkia/pseuds/Setkia
Summary: "Teach me how to play piano."Soul blinks. Once. Twice. Thrice. He bursts out laughing, a tear appearing in the corner of his eye but when he looks back up at his Meister, her expression hasn't changed."Wait, you're serious?"





	Heart & Soul

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't resist the pun. I also know next to nothing about music, so sorry if this isn't very accurate. There's also a SMALL reference to sex, but it's not explicit enough to warrant a higher rating.

Soul knows many things about his long-time partner and Meister, Maka Albarn.

She’s one of the smartest students in their class, likes to wear her hair in pigtails because her mother used to do them up that way, not because she doesn’t want the strands falling in her face during the heat of battle (that’s just a bonus, really), and she _abhors_ fish. She gets mad when Blair wakes him up, or when he falls asleep in class, and even though her father annoys her to no end, she loves him deeply. He knows she’s jaded, that her father’s screwed her up and it’s a miracle she trusts him at all, but she never falters when they do Soul Resonance. He knows she’s sensitive about her chest size and wears her uniform every day because she doesn’t know what else to wear and it saves time in the morning. He knows that despite her amazing combat skills, she doesn’t think she’s good enough, or strong enough to make a Death Scythe, but she’s trying and that counts for something, even if she doesn’t think it does. Amongst all the complex things Soul understands about the confusing enigma that’s his Meister, and even the simple ones (she likes everything about the rain — the sound it makes, the way it looks as it slides down the windowpane, the puddles it leaves once it’s gone— but hates getting caught in it, and she keeps the funny section of the newspaper— she says it’s for the puzzles but it’s for the comics), one thing is abundantly clear.

Make Albarn knows shit about music.

When he first met her, she asked him to play.

He’s not sure if she knows this, but when he put his hands on the ivory keys, he had composed some of the darkest melodies he had ever concocted, improvising through the notes with the intention of scaring her. The sharp notes, sudden slurs and constant overbearing darkness in both clefs had made him sweat as he pulled from the darkest corners of his mind and soul but she had clapped and told him she liked it, proving his theory.

She keeps proving him right from the way she asks him to play because she thinks his music is “beautiful”, and likes just about anything she listens to, including techno, which is just _terrible_. He doesn’t think she’s realized that he plays jazz, and no one really likes jazz, unless they’re lying about it (which he’s _not_ , he’s just cool enough to enjoy smooth jazz). She proves it when she asks to hear his brother play, and thinks that somehow, Soul’s dark, gloomy, _evil_ way of manipulating the keys is more graceful and moving than the sweet melodies that never falter from Wes’ bow.

It feels nice to know he’s better at something than her. She can best him in smarts, in social interaction and forming bonds between people (he still doesn’t fully understand why she’s friends with Chrona), in having relatives who actually _care_ about her (he’s still bitter about that one, even if she’s the only family he ever needs), he will completely _destroy_ her when it comes to the fine arts of an orchestra.

The only good thing he’s gotten from the Evans bloodline is his finely tuned ear. He can’t express himself the same way she does, with her words and Maka-chopping and passion-filled actions and movements. He can try, and he’s tried before, but the most he can manage is a frown or that cocky smirk she says she hates. S’not his fault he has screwed up teeth that misconstrue his meaning. He’s glad to have such a liberating release, even if he doesn’t use it often. It’s there, and that’s what matters, the same way he can feel her soul whenever they perform Soul Resonance, and even after because it lingers in the background and it’s something nice to fall back on when his stupid insecurities catch up to him unexpectedly.

So yes, Soul "Eater" Evans is a musical prodigy and Maka Albarn must be tone deaf.

He can’t help but notice the way she watches him when he plays (on those few occasions she manages to coax him into it). Her eyes follow his fingers but they’re glazed over, as though she’s not really seeing what’s in front of her, but feeling the music, the same way he feels it. Like it’s running through her body, filling her soul, and then he gets worried because _he’s_ the one with the Black Blood, _he’s_ the one with the little demon and the darkness inside of him, he can’t pull her into it even if she has purifying powers and wings of an angel.

So when she says “Play for me” (he wonders if she realizes he does play for her. _Only_ her) every chance she gets, he turns her down but on the rare occasions he submits, he’s never prepared for her reaction.

The moment he sits down at the piano lid, her eyes fill with rapt awe and attention.

 _Wes_ gets all that attention, not him, and certainly not with the same intensity she bestows on him when he plays.

It may be because of his upbringing (the upbringing he tries to forget) that he tries to act like a gentleman and keep his music as reserved as possible, but every now and then things leak out and there’s a dark atmosphere that lingers in the air, a crippling madness as he feels himself battle with the Blood inside of him. His fingers go crazy on the ivory keys, his fingertips leave behind a metaphorical trail of poison in his wake with each note he presses, staining the keys with black ink; blood.

He doesn't like to play very much anymore.

  
It happens one night at dinner. Blair is out and it’s been a long day, so even though it’s his night to cook, he’s lazy, which means it’s leftovers from Chinese takeout. He should’ve known there was something because she doesn’t complain.

As he’s taking a gulp of water, she drops the bomb.

“Can you play for me?”

Soul coughs and nearly chokes to death. _Not_ cool.

He thuds at his chest with a fist, trying to keep himself from drowning on dry land and before he can stop it he’s asking the question he’s always been wondering. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you want to hear me play?”

He’s expecting a simple answer; she likes his music (even though he knows it sounds like poison, his parents have never let him forget it); she needs the white noise while studying. He doesn’t expect the answer she _does_ give him.

“I’m studying.”

Soul blinks. “What?”

“I’m studying you when you play.”

“But you don’t like music.”

“I never said that.” _Oh, she’s getting defensive._

Soul frowns. “But—”

“I don’t _understand_ music, but I want to. It’s important to you, right?”

He hadn’t anticipated this and now she’s looking at him all-innocent like and _that’s not helping him_.

Because it isn’t long after being partnered with her that Soul realizes he _likes_ that she wears her hair in pigtails (as babyish as it is), and he doesn’t mind that she’s as flat as a board, or has a thing against men. But he knows it’s stupid to think anything can come out of this because her goddamn father and that distrust he’s instilled in her.

Sometimes he wishes he could kill Spirit, but he supposes he’ll have to settle for becoming a stronger Death Scythe than him instead.

“Idiot, you don’t learn from watching.”

“I still want to hear you play.”

“No.”

She tilts her head to the side. “Why don’t you like to play?”

Soul can’t answer that question. To answer that question would mean to reveal all his inner secrets and he’s not sure he’s ready for that quite yet.

“I just don’t, okay?” he asks, stuffing his face with chicken.

That’s the end of that conversation.

  
“So how _do_ you learn?”

Apparently not.

Soul opens a single eye to see his Meister standing over him. Judging by the state of his back, he’s fallen asleep on the couch again. “Learn what?” He sits up and rolls his shoulder back. His stupid hair is in his face again, and as much as he tries to keep it back with the headband, everyone knows it’s not really working.

“You know. About music.”

“By doing, I guess,” he says with a shrug. He gets off the couch, the cold of the ground shocks him awake so there goes sleeping in his own bed. “It’s like fighting, right? You can watch Bruce Lee beat up as many people as you want; doesn’t mean you’ll know how to do it yourself. And don’t give me that _Karate Kid_ bullshit either. Washing a window and painting a fence are _not_ going to make you a ninja master.”

"So I need to learn how to play an instrument?"

"Experience is the best teacher, isn't it?" He yawns. "What time is it?"

It’s then that Maka realizes they’re late and drags him off to the DWMA. He doesn’t mind, she grabs his hand by accident and he’ll take what he can get. _So not cool._

 _  
_ "Hey Tsubaki, can I talk to you for a sec?"

Black*Star laughs loudly. "You don't want to talk to me? I get it, you're intimated by my godly presence! I'll let you recuperate, you guys have some weapon thing you gotta talk about, right?" He claps Soul on the back a little too forcefully. "Don't even _think_ about stealing her; she's mine, got that?" he hisses into his ear.

Soul rolls his eyes. Like he's into Tsubaki.

"What is it, Soul-kun?"

"You trust Black*Star, right?"

Tsubaki brow furrows in worry. "Is there a problem with Maka-chan?"

"No, it's not like that. Not exactly.” How does he explain this without sounding uncool? "Maka has taken a sudden interest in music, and I don't understand why."

Tsubaki looks Soul up and down for a moment. It unnerves him. "Soul-kun, you play piano, right?"

“Sometimes.”

“There’s your answer.”

Soul blinks. ”What?"

“I don’t understand Black*Star all the time, but he’s my Meister. I learn to see things the way he does. I don’t always agree with him, but I get to know him better through what he does, what he likes.”

“What does that have to do with Maka?”

“She’s trying to understand you.”

"Our Soul Resonance is fine, I don't understand why she needs to understand me anymore."

"It's not about Soul Resonance.”

Black*Star calls for her then, and she turns and goes.

Soul watches as Black*Star slings an arm over her shoulder and laughs loud enough to shake the school and bring down another pillar. Good thing Kidd isn't here, otherwise he'd be freaking out about the symmetry again.

_But what does she mean it's not about Soul Resonance?_

  
"Teach me how to play piano."

Soul blinks. Once. Twice. Thrice. He bursts out laughing, a tear appearing in the corner of his eye but when he looks back up at his Meister, her expression hasn't changed.

"Wait, you're serious?"

"I want to understand."

"That doesn't mean you have to learn to play the piano.”

"But you said that experience is the best teacher."

Dammit, he did say that.

"Black*Star plays guitar," says Soul casually. "Why don't you ask him?"

"I did." His stomach clenches at the thought of her going to someone other than him for help, but he ignores it. He’s good at ignoring it. "He said someone as ungodly as myself would never understand the complexities of the six string beauty."

_Sounds like something Black*Star would say._

Soul pinches the bridge of his nose. "I suppose learning the piano wouldn't be as hard as memorizing all the threads of a guitar," he mutters. "Even if it _is_ easier, I'm no teacher. Can't you have someone like … I dunno, Stein to teach you?"

Maka’s giving a look that’s clearly asking him if he really thinks _Stein_ of all people would know how to play the piano. She has a point.

"You know I don't play much anymore.”

"But you're the only one who _does_ play and you have more patience than someone like Black*Star."

" _Everyone_ has more patience than Black*Star. Tsubaki isn't any good? Or what about Kidd?"

"The piano isn't symmetrical," says Maka. "The lid makes it an abomination. Kidd wouldn't touch it in a million years. And Tsubaki has her hands full of Black*Star, I don't want to trouble her."

"But you have no problem troubling me?"

"You're my weapon," she says with a shrug. "We spend lots of time together anyway, and most of that time is doing nothing, this would be productive."

He can already tell she's considered this argument from every possible angle; there's no way he's winning this fight.

"Fine. Say we do it, which I'm not saying we do, where do we get a piano?"

"There's one in the DWMA, near the cafeteria. Don't you remember?"

He remembers.

"Okay. After classes then."

She beams brightly at him and it’s almost worth it.

Almost.

  
"No, you're doing it wrong."

"Maybe if you told me what I was doing wrong, I could do better!"

"Can't you tell?" Soul has never tried to explain music to anyone before, never mind to someone who barely understands what a scale is. "It's in the sound. This is a C, and this is a D."

"I can't hear the difference."

Soul growls under his breath, his shark-like teeth, white hair and red eyes making it look even more menacing. "Let's do this again. This is a scale." Soul lets his fingers carefully go over the notes from memory, feeling the ivory give underneath the light pressure of his fingertips. “Looks like that on paper.” He points to the basic scale on the sheet music. "You go up the scale starting from C, and then go down until you've gotten to C again."

He watches the way Maka’s brow furrows in concentration. He can tell she's trying really hard, but it isn't working. "No, you're going too fast— now you're too slow— no, your thumb doesn't go there— you missed the B flat—" Soul shakes his head. "Give me a second."

He leaves the room, returning with a roll of duct-tape. He writes the letter of the notes on and places them on the appropriate keys. "Try it again. Start from C and go up, then down."

Maka's fingers are clumsy, but it isn't the _worst_ sound he's ever heard.

“Better.”

"So … how do you play what you play?” She sounds shy.

"What I play?"

"Yeah. What kind of music is that?"

"I played classical, or jazz," Soul says. "It's not something you'd be interested in."

"But it sounds beautiful."

Soul laughs hollowly. "Oh yeah?"

"I think it's pretty.”

"Tell that to my parents.” He means it as a joke, but it holds too much truth. Maka doesn’t mention it and he’s grateful. "I don't have any sheet music for that stuff, most of my jazz is improvised. Do you know what this is?" he asks, pointing.

"A music note?"

“How long does it last?”

Maka hits the D for a moment before letting it go.

"That's a quarter note. This," Soul presses on C for half a beat, "is a half note. And this," he holds the note longer, "is a full note." He takes the sheet music and turns it over, writing, writing down the letters of the notes and the appropriate times each note should be played for instead of a staff. "Can you read it better this way?"

Maka nods and plays it slowly, checking the paper and her fingers. It comes out a little strange but he can still identify the song without too much trouble.

"What is that? It sounds familiar."

" _Heart and Soul_ ," Soul says with a grin.

Maka begins to hum slightly. She's barely getting the tune right, but it's not bad. "What are the words again?"

Soul places his fingers on the ivory keys and begins to play. "Heart and soul," he says, because he knows he can't sing and to try would be an embarrassment and to do that in front of Maka is doubly more so. "I fell in love with you, heart and soul."

 _"The way a fool would do, madly because you held me tight and stole a kiss in the night,"_ Maka finishes. Her voice isn't perfect, it sounds exactly like he guessed it would, slightly off-key, too high, not quite in time with the music, but there's something endearing about the way she smiles as he plays. _"Heart and soul, I begged to be adored. I lost control and tumbled overboard gladly, that magic night we kissed there in the moon mist."_

Perhaps how well he knows the instrument has to do with how he's been brought up, surrounded by music and melodies circling him at a constant rate, but he's glad about it for once because it lets him watch her in wonder while he plays her accompaniment.

" _Oh, but your lips were thrilling, much too thrilling. Never before were mine so faintly willing, but now I see what one embrace can do. That little kiss you stole held all my heart and soul."_

She seems to have forgotten he's here, just listening to the music and trying to match it with her voice. It's not really working to be honest.

_"Now I see what one embrace can do, look at me, it's got me loving you madly. That little kiss you stole held all my heart and soul."_

They won't win an Grammy for it, he's sure of that, but somehow her ill-sung words strike him and he realizes the irony of how fitting the song is for someone named Soul with a demon in his heart.

Maka blinks and looks at him. "I'm sorry! I got too caught up! I want to try it again." She takes the keys beneath her fingers once more and tries to play, slowly. The notes don't quite string together right.

"You have to keep time," Soul tells her. He begins to tap his foot, a make-shift metronome. "It's a four beat time signature, one, two, three, four."

He keeps her steady as she plays, stumbling and slurring notes that shouldn't be slurred. He gives her an encouraging smile, one with pointed teeth and a devilish glint in his eyes.

It's when the lights turn off that they realize they've been at this for over three hours and the school is closing for the night.

"We can try something easier next time," Soul says. " _Heart and Soul_ isn't really for beginners. I can show you _Chopsticks_ , or we could just straight with scales—”

"No, I want to learn this one.”

"You can't even read music," Soul points out.

"I don't have to, not with the way you teach."

Soul looks at her and she's clearly determined. He supposes that's it then.

Maka Albarn's first song on the piano will be _Heart and Soul._

  
"What are you doing with my darling Maka?"

Soul sighs, sinking lower in the chair across from Spirit. Of course being called out in the middle of class by Maka's father would result in something along these lines. "What are you talking about?"

"I heard that you stayed late at school yesterday, care to explain?"

"Not really."

"That's not an option.”

They glare at each other.

"Do you know what I'm going to do to you, Soul Eater?" asks Spirit. "You may be her partner, but I'm her father and as her father, and furthermore as a Death Scythe, I will frigging kill you."

"Have fun with that. Maka's going to kill you for it."

Spirit slams a hand down on the table between them. "What were you doing with my Maka yesterday?"

Soul kicks his feet up on the desk in front of him. “Okay, first of all, she's not _your_ Maka, she's your _daughter_ , and you're a too over-bearing, doting parent.

“Secondly, I haven’t done anything with her, nothing that you're thinking of anyway, because I'm a cool guy and cool guys don't do things like what you're thinking about.

“Thirdly, even if I _were_ doing things like that with Maka, do you really think Maka would let me get away with those things if she didn’t fully consent? You have a violent daughter, old man, her Maka-chop could kill any man's boner.

“Lastly, you of all people should know that the likely-hood of Maka ever getting into anything more than platonic relationship with a man is as good as our moon suddenly looking like it didn't want to molest people.”

Spirit blinks at him.

Soul thinks he’s made his point pretty clear.

He gets up and is about to leave when Spirit calls back to him.

"Soul Eater, I hope you realize the relationship you have with my daughter."

Soul turns around and looks at him. He sense this is one of those conversations you need eye-contact for.

"You're right, my daughter doesn't like men and I can admit that it may have been my fault—" Soul scoffs, "— and you must know how special what you two have is. I think it goes without saying that Maka has put her trust in you. Don't you dare make her regret it."

Soul grins toothily at him. "I'm not you, remember? I don't make a habit of hurting the people I care about. I'm the cool one."

When he gets back to class and Maka asks him what happened, he grins at her. "Nothing, your old man and I were just talking about how violent you can get."

He takes the Maka-chop in stride.

  
"You're getting better.”

It's true. The music comes out almost gracefully now. Her fingers are starting to move across the keys with a grace that he's never had. He's sure this is the sound his parents wished he made, this angelic, pure and innocent rhythm; a sound he could never produce.

"Really?" He can see galaxies in her eyes.

 _"Heart and soul,"_ she whispers. _"I fell in love with you heart and soul, the way a fool would do madly because you held me tight and stole a kiss in the night."_

It's a sweet sound.

The Black Blood inside him says to kill it, all the sweetness, all the purity, but he ignores the voice and instead lets the music move him in a way it hasn't in years. He remembers now why he loves music. More than a method of escape and expression, it connects people unlike anything else he knows.

"Have you learnt anything?" Soul asks her when she finishes playing for the fifth time. It still needs some patch work, but it’s getting better each time she plays.

"What do you mean?"

"Do you understand music better now?"

"I think I'm closer now," says Maka softly, worrying her lip. Her eyes wander to him but she turns away quickly.

Girls are _weird_.

  
Blair is upset now that Soul and Maka aren't home as often as they were before. She doesn't understand why Soul and Maka have to stay so late all the time. He tries to explain it to her, but she doesn't get it.

"If you wanted to do stuff like that here, Blair wouldn't mind! Blair likes it when Soul-kun is home!"

"It's not like that," Soul says tiredly. "We're playing _music_.” The cat has way too many dirty thoughts going through her mind.

”Nya, but Soul-kun, you always look so tired—"

"That's what happens when you stay up late,” he deadpans.

"But Maka-chan is always—"

"We're not doing what you think we're doing!" Soul snaps. Blair takes a step back at the sudden raise in his voice. "I mean … It's not like she'd want to do _that_ with me anyway."

Blair frowns. “But—”

"I have homework to do,” he announces, pulling out his chair.

Soul never does his homework.

She doesn’t call him out on it, and he’s grateful.

  
They're on a mission, the first one in a while when Maka gets herself injured protecting him. It's _his_ job as her _weapon_ to make sure _she_ doesn't get hurt. He’s useless without a Meister, doesn't she understand that?

When he asks her why on Earth she did it, she tells him the most stupid reason.

_“It’s bad for a pianist to hurt their hands.”_

_Idiot. The only one I ever play for is you anyway._

  
It's after a few more weeks of playing that Maka seems to have gotten the hang of it.

"I did it!" Her eyes are shining so much and her smile is splitting her face in half. All her hard work has paid off. She hugs him tightly in her victory and it's not his fault, he can't help it really.

He kisses her.

_So not cool._

“W-what … what was that?”

He should be able to control his own emotions, so why can't he when she smiles at him like that? He has to get a grip on himself.

"Soul …”

He nearly trips over the piano bench in his hurry to get away.

He runs.

_Not cool at all._

  
Tsubaki slaps him when he walks into class the next day.

"What the hell was that for?"

"Maka-chan is upset."

Soul knows she's upset. Probably mad that her weapon kept such feelings from her a secret, but it was a for a good reason, one she’s proving right now.

When they got back she didn't talk to him and he hid in his room, ignoring Blair's calls to dinner. The easy lifestyle they have is gone, she's tense around him. She probably thinks he's just like her father.

"I know.”

"What happened?"

Soul looks up at Maka who is sitting in her seat, reading a book.

"I lost my cool," he says simply because that's all there is to it. It's not her fault that he isn't able to control himself, that's all on him. "Can I trade spots with you today?"

He sits next to Black*Star instead of Maka and the blue haired assassin won't shut up about how he'll surpass god, but he ignores him and falls asleep during class.

He didn't sleep at all last night.

He wishes he didn't sleep in class though cause when he opens his eyes instead of seeing Maka, rolling her eyes at him for not getting enough sleep, it's Spirit.

"You hurt Maka.”

And the fact that he's not using weird terms of endearment, or bouncing all over the walls, or declaring to put Soul's head on a pike lets him know that he's deadly serious and it's the scariest thing ever.

Spirit doesn't hit him, but Soul wishes he did. Instead, he stares at him with harsh, cold eyes.

He says the only thing he can say.

"I know."

It's punishment enough to know that she may ask for a new partner.

He read too much into the way she holds him. It's all his fault. He thought that her grip had changed, that she was holding him softer now, that she was almost caressing him. What the hell was he thinking? When he signed that paper to be her partner, he vowed to break down her walls, to be the first man she trusted since her father jaded her and now he's ruined it.

He doesn't deserve to be her partner.

 _Weapons are replaceable,_ he remembers. _Meisters aren't._

They were never on the same level, no matter how much he wishes they were. At first glance, they seem to be fairly even, since he comes from an aristocratic family and her father is a Death Scythe, but he's an outcast of his family, the black-sheep who was too dark to maintain a place on the family tree.

Black sheep.

Black Blood.

Red and black scythe, tainting the angel's white wings.

  
He plays that night on the piano. The piano he met her at. He plays and instead of the usual jazz, instead of classical, it's _Heart and Sou_ l.

He's torturing himself now, isn't he? He always knew he was a masochist.

_“Heart and soul  
_ _I fell in love with you heart and soul  
_ _The way a fool would do madly  
_ _Because you held me tight  
_ _And stole a kiss in the night  
_ _Heart and soul  
_ _I begged to be adored  
_ _I lost control and tumbled overboard gladly  
_ _That magic night we kissed  
_ _There in the moon mist  
_ _Oh but your lips were thrilling, much too thrilling  
_ _Never before were mine so faintly willing  
_ _But now I see what one embrace and do  
_ _That little kiss you stole  
_ _Held all my heart and soul  
_ _Now I see what one embrace can do  
_ _Look at me it’s got me loving you madly  
_ _That little kiss you stole  
_ _Held all my heart and soul”_

When he’s done, he hears clapping.

He turns around to see Maka standing there, watching at him.

She stretches out her hand to him, just like she did all those years ago and he takes it. He knows he shouldn't, he's going to spread his darkness into her again, but this feels like a do-over so he holds her small hand in his larger one, making sure his grip is tighter than ever before.

"Do you want to know why I want to understand music?" Maka asks softly.

Soul says nothing.

"Because I want to understand _you_."

Tsubaki's words come back to him.

_It's not about Soul Resonance._

"I'm sorry about before," he says. "I didn't mean to—"

She kisses him and it's like a sweet end to a symphony.

_"I fell in love with you, heart and Soul."_

They understand each other in this moment and he says nothing more.

  
Their first time is strange and weird and maybe it's too rushed, but it feels amazing. He can admit that it isn't graceful, nothing like those cheesy books that include fireworks and stars, because fireworks extinguish in moments and stars disappear when the sun comes out. It's nothing like lighting a match to a flame because wax burns out and then there's nothing but goo. He can't quite name it, but he knows that when the end comes, this is something everlasting, something that's much more that the moment it exists within.

  
"Play for me."

Soul grins at his Meister. "Any requests?"

This time when he plays, the notes aren't nearly as dark. He can feel the shadows in the keys, but wherever there is a shadow, there’s light casting it. The notes feel lighter, like the weight has been lifted off his shoulders, and yet there is the undeniable lingering of something more sinister in the tempo, in the rhythm.

She still calls it beautiful.

He's never going to be what his parents want, he's never going to be another Wes, he's never going to that perfect second child.

But he does know that she accepts him as he is right now and that's all that matters.

Soul knows many things about his long-time partner and Meister, Maka Albarn.

She’s one of the smartest students in their class, likes to wear her hair in pigtails because her mother used to do them up that way, not because she doesn’t want the strands falling in her face during the heat of battle (that’s just a bonus, really), and she _abhors_ fish. She gets mad when Blair wakes him up, or when he falls asleep in class, and even though her father annoys her to no end, she loves him deeply. He knows she’s jaded, that her father’s screwed her up and it’s a miracle she trusts him at all, but she never falters when they do Soul Resonance. He knows she’s sensitive about her chest size and wears her uniform every day because she doesn’t know what else to wear and it saves time in the morning. He knows that despite her amazing combat skills, she doesn’t think she’s good enough, or strong enough to make a Death Scythe, but she’s trying and that counts for something, even if she doesn’t think it does. Amongst all the complex things Soul understands about the confusing enigma that’s his Meister, and even the simple ones (she likes everything about the rain — the sound it makes, the way it looks as it slides down the windowpane, the puddles it leaves once it’s gone— but hates getting caught in it, and she keeps the funny section of the newspaper— she says it’s for the puzzles but it’s for the comics), one thing is abundantly clear.

She loves him. Heart and soul.


End file.
